


MJN Olympian

by smallsteps32



Category: Cabin Pressure, Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallsteps32/pseuds/smallsteps32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Icarus to Hercules, the MJN crew has always been in close contact to the machinations of the gods.</p><p>A series of AU drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carolyn - Aphrodite

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I wanted to do some drabbles with greek mythology and MJN. This is super experimental, and this first one can't really be called a drabble to be honest. I'm thinking of doing each character, and a drabble for a range of gods influencing their lives.
> 
> Let me know what you think so I know whether this is worth pursing.  
> Hope you enjoy it : )

APRODITE

From the moment she was so much as a thought in her mother’s mind, destiny was devotedly wrapped around Carolyn Knapp. This was to be expected from the direct descendent of the goddess of love and beauty. Every decision that Carolyn made, Aphrodite paid close attention to the paths they led her down.

Aphrodite held Carolyn in the highest esteem. If she could fault her granddaughter at all, it was for the bone-deep difficulty that the girl seemed to find in following the roads the Fates had laid out for her. Of course, the Fates spoke in riddles and it was hard to tell what they meant on a good day, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know what they were doing. Carolyn was well aware of this, and she actively avoided every opportunity presented to her.

Aphrodite first appeared to her granddaughter when it became apparent that Carolyn was determined to shun every god-given pathway to happiness that her Olympian ancestors gave her. She could have stayed at home. Aphrodite admired her for leaving, and despaired at her refusal to be tied down to any destiny. She had gall. She had the vivacity and fearlessness that Aphrodite valued in each of her children – the sort that Ruth lacked, but that Carolyn’s ancestors, founders of empires, had embraced. Like all adventurers, she needed a compass.

Carolyn needed love when Ruth turned her back on her – both times.

The moon was high, a thin layer of sleet turned the pavements treacherous, and Carolyn had crossed the sweetshop’s threshold for the last time. Aphrodite appeared as she had for her sons, and all her grandchildren in their times of need. When she put her arms around the girl’s shoulders in the shelter of the dilapidated bus stop, Carolyn didn’t see a beautiful woman. She saw someone kindly and gentle, like she had seen in the pages of the books her mother used to read. For that evening at least, that was beautiful enough.

“Everything will work itself out in time,” Aphrodite soothed her. “So long as you do not fight the flow of the tide. You have taken the first steps... contrary to what I expected. Now allow it to carry you to success.”

It wasn’t the first time Carolyn had heard of her ancestry. It was the first time she believed it.

For a while, suspended in time, they were one at heart. Then Carolyn came to her senses and needless to say, didn’t appreciate her birthright at all.

Not one bit actually.

Any hint that anyone was trying to control her – even fortune weighed out for her by Zeus himself – it was met with scorn. Hephaestus laughed good-naturedly when Aphrodite fumed over what her granddaughter had said. The words were as foul as his face, but Aphrodite took strength from both. Whether Carolyn liked it or not, they shared a core of fire.

They came to a compromise.

Aphrodite appeared when she thought Carolyn needed guidance.

Carolyn ignored her grandmother’s suggestions but stayed still long enough for a glass of wine and a chat.

When Carolyn headed to the airport looking for a new future – having turned down all the futures ordained by the assembled masses on Mount Olympus, Aphrodite saw her chance to set her on the right course. Every man Carolyn encountered on the way through the terminal found themselves in a sticky situation, Dionysus was tied down out of sight where he couldn’t interfere, and Athena was looking on with disapproval, believing for once that interference wasn’t the right policy – the hypocrite.

With Hermes’ help, the perfect destination was chosen. As Carolyn looked up at the board, at the list of locations, the lights flickered and left a single name illuminated between the rest. Scowling, Carolyn marched to the desk and asked for tickets to an island on the other side of the world. The booking didn’t go through. A sudden burst of romance sent a rush of Italians into a sweet serenade, exclaiming the joys of Tuscany.

Carolyn tried to book tickets to Iceland.

Even with Aphrodite’s sweet presence hovering over her head like a shadow made of light, promising legions of men rivalling Adonis, the girl wasn’t swayed.

In fact, the realisation that she was _meant_ to go soul searching far from England was probably what drove Carolyn into an unmarked office, where she applied for a job – and got it, thanks to a gentle nudge from Hera, bored of their faffing about and eager to give the girl some independence if it would shut everyone up.

No amount of soothing promises from the Fates calmed Aphrodite that day. Especially not when she watched them adjust the length of Carolyn’s thread.

Thunderstorms grounded every plane in the airport.

It was a blessing when Carolyn met Ian. Of course, she had spent years cultivating a reputation as a beautiful, independent, terrifying stewardess. There was little need to step in when she was capable of handling anything that came her way – all while dodging any attempt Aphrodite made to offer an improvement in her circumstances. Carolyn was great – but she hadn’t reached the levels of greatness she deserved.

But now she was in love.

Aphrodite couldn’t have been prouder. She remained corporeal throughout the dress fitting.

“You’ll look beautiful,” she said, arms wrapped tenderly around her granddaughter as she fastened the straps on her frock. Not the frock she had picked out. One Carolyn had chosen knowing that they wouldn’t agree on it.

“I don’t need to be beautiful,” Carolyn replied tartly. Her face said otherwise. “We connect on an intellectual level.”

“You already are beautiful, it’s in your blood,” Aphrodite said. “And of course all is naught without inner beauty. An absence of it warps you – you should see Eris.”

“What a comforting thought.”

This was better than when Ruth had married. Whatever she believed, Aphrodite knew that Carolyn had embraced love in her heart, without the fool’s tendency to be blinded to its severity. The year was modern – worshipping the values that the gods embodied was done subtly now - and as a descendent of the demi-gods, Carolyn need only accept that love was the force that drove her destiny for things to work out the way they should.

The marriage to Ian was perfect... until he shirked one too many Valentines days. Aphrodite could forgive forgetfulness. She could not forgive claiming that the day of romance – the one day a year when she and the Furies couldn’t roam without being called upon by mortals in need – belonged to corporations.

“I agree,” Carolyn had said, as she adjusted her uniform’s lapel in the mirror. “It’s refreshing to find someone who understands that _real_ people, with _real_ jobs, don’t have time to laze about feeding each other chocolates. _Shall I compare thee?_ Ha – only if you’re willing to empty your purse into Hallmark’s grubby palms.”

She would be spending the day at work instead of at home – flying to Malibu of all places. She would never say that she had spent the previous weekend digging through the cabinets and checking the calendar to see if Ian had anything planned.

It didn’t escape Aphrodite’s notice.

Ian was punished with a ravenous lust. Carolyn wouldn’t have discovered his affair, except Apollo plagued her with bad dreams, left her suspicious and concerned, and ultimately left her heartbroken when she found her husband and her sister on a long weekend together when she arrived home early from her flight to Pisa.

Guilt wasn’t something that Aphrodite was used to, but she couldn’t deny that she had led _both_ of her granddaughter’s into ruin.

So she stepped back.

She let Artemis hang a guiding hand over Carolyn’s head – and she had been doing so all along, supporting every decision Carolyn made that went against her grandmother’s wishes, all in the name of independence, raising a huntress and a warrior instead of a lover, with the help of Hera, and Athena, and goddesses that only poked their noses in when there was a dispute to take advantage of.

The next thing Aphrodite knew, her granddaughter was pulling at her threads with a new love that blossomed fresh and bright – fuelled by lust and passion, catching her attention – and she was in the arms of a man named Gordon. He didn’t seem like a bad man, but Aphrodite knew that he wasn’t right for Carolyn. He was right for someone, surely – and she would have Eros find his match if it kept them apart – but this was the kind of love that burned brightly and vanished quickly. The Furies were glad to help her spite him.

The Fates raised a hand, stopped her furious pacing around their loom, and told her to wait.

Gordon was the gateway to private jets, glamorous clients, and a high-flying career. It was everything Carolyn wanted. She ignored every kindly looking woman that appeared to her – a flash in the mirror as she applied her lipstick, a hand on her shoulder, sweet in its heat, a disapproving figure literally blocking her path up the aisle until Carolyn marched straight through her and took his hand because she made her own destiny, damn it, and if love was in her blood, she got to decide what it looked like.

Aphrodite was there when Arthur was born, full of love, and for once Carolyn didn’t question her ancestry. She watched, glowing from the inside out – sickening really, but she would take it – as his eyes, already turning brown, followed the pinkish glow that fluttered around her shoulders, taking stock.

Carolyn had been destined for a future weaved from love, and she seemed to have found it.

Fearful that Carolyn might once again decide to do the complete opposite of whatever she and the other gods suggested, Aphrodite kept her distance. She let Demeter ease Carolyn into motherhood. Carolyn, through some bewildering twist of Fate, allowed her to wrap her in shawls of patience and guide her through the difficult stages – fractions for instance.

Perhaps it was because Demeter had kept out of her way in the past.

Aphrodite was proud when Carolyn finally left Gordon. She was even prouder when, with a little help from Athena in the courtroom, Carolyn got hold of GERTI and started MJN. It was unconventional perhaps – no Argo – but the airdot had the makings of greatness. There were thousands of founders amongst her descendents. With Arthur spreading joy to every corner of the earth, great things were bound to happen for both of them.

And of course, destiny didn’t just benefit those that pursued it. Aphrodite told Carolyn so at the end of every interview she held in her tiny office, in the tiny portacabin, at the edge of the airfield that was smaller than most.

“I’m not hiring someone because you’ve taken a liking to them,” Carolyn said as she inspected an application sent in by a pilot who had only recently been fired. The expression on her face said it all. She needed people she could trust – sympathy was even less welcome than love as far as she was concerned.

She had believed in it for a while, but she had learned her lesson.

“I don’t like him. He’s detestable,” Aphrodite replied, lounging in a chair that had too many angles and screws loose to accommodate a mortal’s lounging. Today she looked like an ideal employee – one eerily reminiscent of Carolyn’s mortal grandmother. “But you’re founding an empire, darling, which means your every decision will be in the interest of your people.”

“Sometimes I think you forget what century we live in,” Carolyn muttered, looking at her invoices so that she wasn’t drawn in by her grandmother’s looks – it was impossible not to be, even if you were sly to her tricks.

 “Being a leader involves a lot of heart,” Aphrodite said.

“Everything’s about the heart with you.”

“Well it doesn’t matter if you don’t like him. He’ll still get the job.”

“How can you be so sure?” Carolyn demanded.

“Because he’s the luckiest man on the planet,” Aphrodite replied. She shrugged and sighed. “Zeus has been trying to undo that particular fumble for a while, but no matter how many mistakes he makes, the man always manages to get back up.”

Lo and behold, a few weeks later Carolyn had hired Douglas Richardson. Prior feelings aside, Aphrodite did reluctantly garner a soft spot for him. Soft spots were infectious it seemed, as Carolyn, despite all odds, hired Martin Crieff in the years to come.

Running an airline gave Hermes a chance to give Carolyn a helping hand, and Aphrodite was glad to hang back and watch Carolyn _accept_ that help from the gods and from the family she had begrudgingly accepted. It was impossible for her to live a life without love while she still cared deeply for Arthur above all else, and when she gave her pilots chance after chance.

Aphrodite talked with her granddaughter more in those years than she ever had before. White hair, wrinkles on her hands and face, a voice sharpened by age – it only made her more beautiful, redeeming the choices she had made in the past.

There was plenty of thread left, the Fates assured her.

Aphrodite wasn’t content to leave Carolyn to her own devices until Hercules Shipwright introduced himself. Until he talked her into believing in love outside of corporate deals and animated tales of woe. Until he healed the grudge Apollo had been holding over Carolyn’s hatred of opera and anything similar. Until by some miracle Hercules – named after the plane, not the hero, which was just poetry in motion really – managed to make Carolyn trust love in a way the goddess of love never could.

In the end, Carolyn was the one who decided when love was allowed to steer her destiny.


	2. Douglas - Zeus

DOUGLAS – ZEUS

There was nothing particularly extraordinary about Douglas Richardson when he was born. The thread that measured his fate was long but flexible, like anyone else’s. Born into a family comprised of two extremely successful doctors – the weight of whose affections lay for the most part in Athena’s favour – he was destined for good things. As with all conceived in such conditions, there was room for hubris to slip in.

It was with this in mind that Zeus balanced the scales that would determine Douglas’ future – how fortunate he could be, and deserved to be.

All would have been well had the Fates not had a gathering of sorts, a few too many goblets of wine, and told anyone who would listen that – well, Zeus wasn’t sure what they had told the other Olympians, but now each and every one of them wanted to stake a claim on the boy. It was driving him mad.

Even Narcissus had turned up.

“I knew before a word was said that the boy was meant to be wise,” Athena insisted “How could he not be, parents that he has? I tell you now, he is destined to be a physician.”

“Come off it!” Apollo scoffed. “He’s creative – you can’t feel it? He’s mine, I swear. The lad’ll be writing operas by the time he’s ten.”

“What you’re sensing is wit.”

“Like you’d know what that is.”

Zeus gritted his teeth and focused on steadying his hands as he measured the good fortune from the jar onto the scales. It had been a long night already.

 “Let me have him,” Poseidon chipped in. “I see a sailor in those eyes.”

“Traveller,” Hermes amended. “Chuck him in the air, I say.”

“I’ll take the gamble if you’re game.”

Zeus closed his eyes and tried again.

BANG!

A flash of light streaked behind him, glinting off the scales. Zeus whirled towards the source, ready to reprimand whoever was responsible – and in doing so knocked the jar of good fortune onto the scales, letting it spill everywhere.

There was no getting it back.

“Well, damn,” Zeus huffed, scratching the back of his head as the other gods gathered around him, wide eyed.

Zeus didn’t say a word as the Fates muttered furiously, no idea what to do with the now golden thread that grew and shrunk every second, dodging out of reach of their spindly fingers. He couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to. With Hera on one side, reprimanding him for another mistake well made, and Hades complaining because it was now impossible to schedule Douglas Richardson’s place in the Underworld, he couldn’t get a word in.

Obviously, he had to get the fortune back. The only flaw in that plan was that Douglas was now exceptionally lucky and the little bugger couldn’t stay still long enough for Zeus to catch up with him.

That, and the boy had become the new fascination of a fair few gods unwilling to relinquish their new pet project.

Not surprisingly, Athena had decided very quickly that Douglas didn’t deserve her attention – he hadn’t earned it, she claimed. Nevertheless, Zeus witnessed a childhood of near misses – nearly walking under a few buses, nearly getting the stuffing knocked out of him for being a shade too smug to be charming, nearly trapping his fingers underneath the piano’s lid. There was an even longer list of extraordinarily good strokes of luck.

If he noticed the other gods hovering over his shoulder, he paid it as much attention as he paid the faint golden glow of Fate that surrounded him.

Douglas breezed through school, despite being shunned by Athena – coming up lucky even when he struggled.

If Athena had paid him more attention, perhaps the boy might have joined the chess club, or taken a genuine interest in medicine. Instead, he learned to play the piano and the guitar. He watched too many movies, musicals, and pieces of operatic theatre. He fell in love with art and literature and joined the drama club, the band, the school journal.

From the age of six onwards, Douglas lived in the light of Apollo’s favour, never knowing that the birds on his window sill were an old god, listening to his work, encouraging him, nursing a soft heart under the veneer of incredibly good fortune and brains.

Just when Zeus thought he might be able to slow the boy down, Douglas was off to medical school. The carefully arranged godly encounter fell through, and a poor traffic warden was treated to the sight of the rose bushes outside Douglas’ Oxford home telling Grandmother Richardson that it was time to start counting her blessings – and perhaps give them back.

It was only a year later, as Zeus watched Douglas drop his head into his hands and then into his arms and then fall into a troubled sleep that he realised no amount of luck could replace hard work, and that Douglas struggled to play to fortune’s favour.

With Athena ignoring him, he was finding his medical exams difficult, without Apollo, who was upholding his irritable promise not to help the ungrateful boy. He had no art to fall back on when in need of comfort. Zeus couldn’t take his fortune. He didn’t want to talk to the boy wither. So he asked Aphrodite for a favour.

“Oh, come on,” Zeus begged. “Pull some strings for the boy’s sake. I can’t take his luck back when his face looks like – like-”

“Like that of a kicked puppy,” Aphrodite concluded, inspecting her nails. She had the seat at the head of the conference table, which was bound to annoy Hera, and was swirling clouds around her fingers. “It’s not the right time for him.”

“Nonsense. Of course it’s the right time. That boy’s heart is ready for love any second of the day,” Zeus reasoned. “Did Apollo show you the poetry? He’s very good at it.”

Despite Aphrodite’s better judgement, Douglas was married within the year. He also dropped out of medical school. And he met Dionysus.

Zeus began to think that excessive luck was Douglas Richardson’s worst enemy.

Douglas and Dionysus remained fast friends for a long time. He remained at his side during the first divorce, and the second, throughout flight school, Air England, and on and on as the other gods lost interest, disappointed in the once golden child. Only Hermes stayed at Douglas’ side, and Zeus was glad of it. Winged-feet were the only thing that could keep up with him once he was airborne.

Zeus watched from a distance as Douglas’s luck and Hermes’ careful attention helped keep his drinking under wraps and his smuggling out of sight.

Until one day Hermes wasn’t there.

As with all the blessed favourites, Hubris caught up with Douglas in the end.

Zeus found him asleep on his sofa, no longer an esteemed captain, or a beloved husband, not allowed to be a father to his two daughters. Dionysus was there in the dark, looking sheepish – he dutifully vanished when Zeus appeared. And when Douglas opened his eyes, Zeus looked like Rory – the only man the boy had ever listened to.

“Looks like my luck’s run out,” Douglas murmured into the dark – convinced apparently that he was dreaming.

“If only,” Zeus replied. He crouched by the sofa. “See here now boy. You wouldn’t need luck if you made good choices, would you?”

“I never even got a chance with my girls.”

“Well now, young Artemis has taken a liking to them. They’ll be more than fine,” Zeus promised. He saw a light enter Douglas’ sleep-addled gaze as some weight was lifted from his shoulders, and he realised that the boy needed now wasn’t luck. It was hope and a firm hand – possibly the threat of a smiting if he didn’t get his act together.

“You can leave the drink,” Zeus said. “It’s patron’s a pushy subject, but you can say not to him and eventually – if you mean it – he’ll go.”

“Really?”

“I’ll see that he’s kept busy,” Zeus promised. “As for the rest,” he thought of Athena. Of Aphrodite, of Hera who couldn’t stand the boy’s former infidelity, and then of Apollo who adored the boy. “Prove that you want them. Prove that you mean it. Prove that you’re willing to learn from your mistakes and be wise. Prove that you’re willing to love properly. Prove that you’re willing to be deeper than this act you put on and it will all come back.”

“What are the chances of that?” Douglas asked.

“With your luck?” Zeus scoffed. “Absolute.”

It had been a while since Zeus had really had to take the reins with a mortal, but he thought he’d done quite a good job of it. He hadn’t the heart to take the fortune back yet.

And lo and behold, Douglas Richardson did it.

MJN was the best thing that ever happened to the boy, and Zeus was pleased to see that with Aphrodite’s distant granddaughter at the helm, Douglas was kept on track. Athena made sure that he had wisdom enough to stay out of trouble. Hermes guarded his illicit trades. Aphrodite tried to find him love, but Douglas, in typical fashion, always managed to look in the wrong places. Even Hera forgave him his slights when Helena left him heartbroken, and Artemis ensured that his daughters never strayed too far.

Zeus laughed for a good long while when Douglas became well acquainted with Demeter when the boy took up gardening. She made it grow throughout spring. Of course, Douglas was skilled in horticulture. Apollo had showered him with talent years ago, and reappeared to gloat each time Martin Crieff – possibly the planet’s unluckiest person – offered an opportunity to show off.

The next time Zeus caught up with Douglas, he fully intended to take his luck back. Over the course of his MJN career, Douglas had been extraordinarily lucky – to the benefit of the whole crew. Even his mistakes – a sugar brick hitting a carp instead of a car, for instance – were weighted more in fortune’s favour than in pride’s.

Hubris had abandoned him and the thread that represented his Fate had settled, long and tender, far from finished. It was about time he began fending for himself – and to be honest, finding gold in the ramshackle plane he flew was beyond reasonable.

However, when Zeus arrived at OJS’s portacabin in the guise of a handsome client, he found a morose Douglas, pleased with his captaincy, more content with the company he had found in the descendents of demi-gods than he had been when surrounded by Olympians and ultimately uncertain concerning what the future held.

“Can I help you?” Arthur Shappey asked, catching Zeus at the door. “Sorry – welcome to OJS Air. How can myself be of help to yourself today?”

“Actually,” Zeus said, hand still on the door handle. “I seem to have walked onto the wrong airfield.”

“That’s alright,” Arthur replied with a smile. “I got on the wrong bus once and went all the way to Leeds. Found my way back though.”

It was better this way, Zeus thought as he left Douglas in three sets of very capable hands. Without the confidence he had once exuded, without the pampering the other gods had once bestowed on him – Douglas Richardson needed all the luck in the world.


	3. Martin - Athena

MARTIN – ATHENA

There were people that Fortune favoured, and there were those that became favourites of the gods before they were ever born. Martin Crieff had no fortune on his side, and no god paid him any attention until he was almost eight years old.

His brother, Simon, was a favourite of Ares – brash, unreliable, and constantly at war with his little brother. The god of war rarely took note of mortals, drawn as he was into monitoring greater conflicts. However, these conflicts sometimes grew to such a scale that he longed for smaller quibbles to entertain himself – fights where it was clear that one party was more righteous, into which he could throw a little chaos. Simon Crieff was the perfect candidate when he thought little Martin was wrong, because he always thought he was right.

“But he’s not right,” Athena said. She perched beside Ares in the second tallest tree in the Crieff family garden. She had only followed him because they hadn’t agreed upon a course of action for a conflict between a group of Antarctic explorers.

“Better he win than the little lad,” Ares replied. He waved a dismissive hand towards the shortest ginger boy below, who was already red in the face, hands clenched at his sides. The impression was overshadowed by his older brother’s smug stature. “Thinks he knows everything that boy.”

“So does Simon.”

“Like someone else I know.”

Athena caught Ares’ sideways glance and immediately turned her attention back to the boy – Martin, she remembered. They had been arguing now for over an hour over... aerodynamics? It didn’t sound quite right coming from the mouth of an eight year old with a lisp, but it was impressive enough, and little Martin was coming up with some quite logical arguments. Silence fell when the boy declared – ‘ _I’ll show you myself then!’_.

“A week in the Underworld,” Ares whispered.

“You’re on,” Athena replied.

Neither god intended keeping their hands clean, but they stood back as Martin selection of paper aeroplanes he had made – Athena had thought _he_ wanted to fly, but this was more sensible at least – and proceeded to climb up the side of the garden shed.

It was easy to tell that there wasn’t a trace of luck about the boy. Athena hovered beside Simon on the ground, ensuring that he didn’t fall – while Ares flicked wet leaves down into the spaces where Martin placed his hands. When Martin tossed the planes from the top of the shed, he did so with precision and focus that Athena admired. And when he fell from the roof, she made sure to catch him.

His lack of any luck at all meant that he still broke his arm, but at least it shut Simon up and sent Ares flitting back to Olympus to encourage Zeus to give Martin just enough fortune to make it a fair fight next time.

Although Athena had no intention of throwing her lot in with Martin Crieff, she couldn’t seem to help returning to the side of a boy who paid such heed to wisdom and warfare, and yet was so terrible at both.

Perhaps she sensed something. After all, of all the gods, she was the one who had raised the most heroes... she believed in Martin’s potential, so much so that she didn’t ask the Fates what they thought. She would rather see him work it out for himself.

As Martin grew, Athena came to admire his drive and ambition, and the faith he placed in academic study. He was willing to work hard in school, no matter how many times Simon’s friends tossed his briefcase onto the roof of the science block.

Athena made sure that he was free of distractions – that his father, no matter how often he wanted Martin to join him and train as an electrician, always found himself on a job when Martin was looking for company. She made sure that he was never asked to parties when his exams were looming. And she ensured that whenever he stepped foot in a library or a second-hand bookshop, there was always the right book wherever he happened to lay his hand.

Martin, of course, didn’t notice a thing.

The only time he spoke to the gods was when he was cursing them for cursing _him_ with such bad luck – a matter made worse when Apollo, offended when Martin called artistic pursuits ‘ _a waste of time’,_ decided that when he wasn’t doting on his favourites, would throw a series of accidents into Martin’s path.

Athena was the one who sat at the end of Martin’s bed, nodding invisibly as his father told him that it didn’t matter that the flight school had rejected him.

“Sometimes, getting what you want means working three times as hard as anyone else,” he said.

“I _have_ been working hard,” Martin grumbled into his pillow. “I spent hours studying-”

“No one cares how hard you study except the exam boards, and even they don’t really care. They’re paid to care,” his father told him. Athena placed a hand on his shoulder, and he found the words to say – words that never came easily to him. “Listen, son. You know what I think. But what I think doesn’t matter. You’re good with your hands, and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders most of the time. You work hard – work every job – and you pay for your schooling. That’s the smart thing.”

Just to make sure Martin really got the message, Athena laid a hand over his brow as he slept and filled his dreams with stern advice, detailing how disappointed she would be if he gave up. He woke with a renewed determination that never really went away.

The years in which Martin grew to adulthood were filled with menial jobs that paid poorly, study and books and underlining things in red, and more failures that Martin knew what to do with. Athena remained by his side, growing prouder after each failure as she watched him pick himself up and try again, warring with any member of his family who told him to stop. As Martin’s father grew weary, and Martin began spending more time in his van, Athena watched him from above. He was resourceful, he was gutsy, and he was smarter than he believed he was. She didn’t like to interfere unless the other gods were doing the same – how would he ever find his true potential if she did? Besides, she couldn’t stay with him all the time and neglect her other duties.

“Can you just look after him?” Athena asked as she flitted after Hermes. He was fond of the postal service, so accustomed to chasing vans across the country. “He wants to be a pilot. Surely it works in your favour to keep an eye on the boy?”

“Why can’t you do it?” Hermes asked.

“Because I can’t drop everything every time Apollo stops the engine in that ridiculous van of his.”

“Well I can’t get my head round helping someone stupid enough to name his company after Icarus,” Hermes replied. “Do you remember Icarus?”

“Yes, I liked him,” Athena said.

“So you see why I’m not on board with your attempts to micro-manage the boy’s life.”

Athena rolled her eyes.

“Icarus was an anomaly.”

“Who the boy’s chosen as his idol,” Hermes sighed. He placed a hand on her shoulder and blew some glittering dust from the pouch at his belt over the parcels that passed beneath them, ensuring that they all arrived on time. “Face it... he’s written his own destiny, and it doesn’t look good.”

“I raise heroes,” Athena replied curtly. “Martin is no Ajax, he is an Odysseus. Icarus aimed for the sun and he fell. Martin’s far more sensible in his goals. If you won’t help him, I’ll just have to find someone else who will.”

It was fortunate then, that while the male gods didn’t seem to care for Martin at all, the female at least had a passing interest in his happiness.

Aphrodite couldn’t sway his heart in any real sense, but she pointed him in the right direction – gave him love of all kinds, which he either ignored or drove away by being a little _too_ ambitious. Athena lost count of how many dates ended with Martin spilling glasses of wine across the table cloth, or speaking too extensively about his studies.

“Why can’t he just be clever about this?” Athena sighed into her hand. She and Aphrodite had taken the table in the corner of the room disguised as a couple of middle-aged women on a third date. The latter was drawing a lot of attention to herself, but she didn’t pay the waiters and waitresses any attention.

“Wisdom and love don’t exactly mix,” Aphrodite said.

“You’re the goddess of sexuality as well.”

“Yes... there’s only so much I can do. Oh, look, he’s walked into the glass doors.”

Demeter was already a patron of the house in which the agricultural students lived when Martin moved in. Although she had little to do with Martin, she and Hestia made sure that whenever they met for tea, they lit the fire in the living room and kept the cold from creeping in through the cracks in the attic floor.

Hera thought Martin was an imbecile, but she made sure that the landlord took pity on him.

For all of Athena’s efforts, Martin was the sort of man who did whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased it, somehow managing to abide by whichever timetable ruled his life at the time. He was rule-abiding, but refused to take no for an answer. So she kept out of his way and watched over him until he found a place with MJN.

If there was one thing that Athena knew would benefit Martin immeasurably, it was working under the guidance of Carolyn Knapp-Shappey and her son – two of Aphrodite’s best descendents. Having the world’s luckiest man at his side every flight couldn’t hurt either.

It helped that, by some twist of Fate, MJN was inordinately steeped in the gods’ interference.

Ares planted the seeds of war within GERTI whenever Apollo, or Hera, or whichever god was annoyed with the crew needed a favour – he worked on the passengers and the airfield staff. Apollo made sure to help Douglas win every single word game they played, which got Martin worked up, which caused him to make mistakes, and no matter how often Athena whispered in his ear, he just wouldn’t listen.

And then... miraculously... Martin began to listen.

He listened to Aphrodite’s soothing songs and opened his heart to his friends. He began to believe that Arthur and Douglas genuinely loved him, platonically and as a member of their family – even Carolyn was incapable of closing her heart to him. He allowed himself to love them back, which made him _think_ , which was all Athena ever wanted him to do. It made him _fight_ , which was her second favourite attribute in any person, but now he was fighting for _them_.

He began to enjoy the journey as well as the feeling of flying, and just like that Hermes was charmed into guiding their aircraft through every thunderstorm that Zeus threw down to punish Douglas was all the luck he had. And Martin’s talent grew, until he could fly without Hermes’ aid.

And then, without any help at all, he began to feel the benefit of Douglas’ good fortune. Douglas shared it without a care for his own luck, and Athena found herself brimming with pride as Martin made the wise choice for once in his life and chose friendship over his own achievements.

Martin began to make his own luck. It saved MJN in ways none of them imagined.

Of course, every feat of heroism was followed by Martin getting tackled by airport security, or something equally ridiculous, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And of course, he still had no sense, no matter how many dreams Athena leapt into. Every now and then, he did something stupid like get stuck in a tree.

“That wasn’t very wise of him,” Apollo remarked, as they sat in the rain, feet swinging against the hedge that they were balanced on.

“He’s a work in progress,” Athena grumbled, watching Martin from between her fingers. “Nothing good is finished until the very end.”

“I’m putting bees in the tree.”

“Don’t put bees in the tree.”

“Can’t think his way out of bees, can he?”

“Yes, he can,” Athena said. “Anyone can. Don’t put bees in the tree.”

“He didn’t appreciate Douglas’ piano playing,” Apollo replied. “Everyone loves it when Douglas plays the piano. I gave him so much talent, only an idiot would tell him to stop playing. I’m putting bees in the tree.”

To be fair, Martin did think his way out of the tree. He decided to fall out of it.

Athena didn’t know whether to be disappointed, or proud of how he abandoned fear.

Demeter was quite pleased with the addition of a goose to the student household, so at least something good came out of the day.

Everything began falling into place around the same time Artemis brought Theresa into Martin’s path. If Athena was convinced that she was raised a hero, it was nothing compared to Artemis’ belief that she had raised a warrior. Martin had always flourished when presented with a challenge – not well, not with ease, but with a steely determination – and Theresa wasn’t content unless she had challenged every misconception thrown her way. Aphrodite didn’t even need to interfere.

Then Swiss Air came along, and Martin couldn’t decide what he wanted – which had never happened before. Martin _always_ knew what he wanted.

Athena couldn’t decide which road she wanted him to take. She _liked_ battling with Ares at every airport they came to. She liked how proud Martin had become of himself, how many good decisions he made, how well he had brought MJN back from the ground and helped it rise into the air.

She spoke with Lachesis, the Fate responsible for allotting the mortals’ threads of life, and asked for the first time to see where Martin’s destiny lay.

“See here, where his thread intertwines with those of MJN’s crew,” Lachesis told her as she granted Athena a glimpse of the tapestry from which Fate was weaved. “Martin Crieff’s thread may wander, but it never unwinds from those of Douglas, Carolyn, and Arthur, although it has been joined lately by that of Hercules and Theresa.”

“But is this the wisest course of action?”

“Wisdom plays no part in destiny, as you should know.”

When Martin made his decision, Athena couldn’t say that it hadn’t been the wisest choice, even if it made them unhappy in some ways. That had always been Martin’s flaw – that he did what he wanted instead of what was best for him. He insisted, as ever, on being his own hero, which was hard to do when Theresa was so good at saving everyone around her.

There never came a point in Martin’s life that he didn’t need Athena to whisper the right answer in his ear at night, but she trusted him enough to stand back every now and again, returning only when he was surrounded by friends. The unluckiest man in the world was fortunate in that he had learned to cope without help from the gods, and he continued to do so, high above the clouds, for as long as he lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've worked out a system where if I finish a chapter of my novel, I get to write a chapter of this. So I hope you enjoyed this as much as I liked writing it. : )


	4. Chapter 4

ARTHUR

From the heavens to the underworld, Arthur Shappey was the only person who didn’t think he was special. The gods were glad to welcome another of Aphrodite’s descendents to the world, and even those mortals that didn’t think he was worth cherishing knew that there was something different about him. They just didn’t know how to handle it.

Arthur, however, had no idea.

Some of his earliest memories were of radiant relatives paying his mum a visit. He had no idea how old he was. All he knew was that his mum had introduced one woman as _‘your very great grandmother – you won’t be seeing much of her, will he, Aphrodite?’._ The woman had sat with him on her lap, trailing her fingers through his hair, bouncing him as she talked with his mum and fed him sugary sweets. She was lovely, but he hadn’t thought she was any more beautiful than the other guests, or the view from his window, or all the places they went when his mum got the pushchair out and took him for walks when his dad was especially busy.

Beauty was in the small things – the simple and the subtle.

True to his mum’s word, Arthur didn’t see much of his very great grandmother, although he could tell when she had been to visit when he was at school. The house always smelled like cupcakes and honey.

What he didn’t know was that Aphrodite was often far more focused on fiddling with his parents’ marriage than watching over him.

That wasn’t to say he was ignored. Arthur Shappey grew up under the watchful eyes of every god on Olympus. Some were worried that his natural inattentiveness would lead him into trouble. Others just adored him.

The house Arthur grew up in was large. It was in the countryside, as his dad wanted it to be – close enough to an airfield that he could access his jet, but far enough from the town that they could have acres of garden and the ability to boast some modicum of class. It meant that he didn’t often have friends over, but that was alright. He was never lonely. While most of the gods watched over him from a distance, two kept him company on the ground.

Arthur, of course, thought they were his imaginary friends. Nobody ever asked, so he never thought to question the fact that he could _see_ them, and _hear_ them... that was how imagination worked, wasn’t it?

Artemis and Apollo first appeared to Arthur when he was four years old.

Driven from the house by a thirst for adventure and the sound of his parents bickering over a kitchen table covered in calendars, cheque books, and invoices, he had sought solace in the thin patch of woods at the foot of the garden. He had a stick in hand, like the explorers he had seen in picture books, and he was content to tromp around in the mud. That was until his legs grew tired and the air grew cold and he found that no matter how beautiful the woods were, he was still a very small child swamped by the vastness around him.

When two small children, around his age, wandered through the trees, Arthur was thrilled if not a little bit confused. He thought they looked a bit like Hansel and Gretel. Obviously, there were no witches in the woods – he had checked – but it seemed like the right idea.

“Hello, Arthur,” the little girl said. She sounded like most grown-ups did when they met him for the first time, hands on their knees so that they were on his level without actually having to lower themselves to the ground.

“What are you doing out here on your own?” the boy asked, sounding the same.

“I’m exploring,” Arthur replied. He clutched his stick, afraid that they might take it. He would be willing to share, but sometimes other children weren’t as keen on sharing, especially if the thing they wouldn’t share hadn’t been theirs in the first place.

“Quite right,” said the girl. “I’m Artemis. And this is Apollo, my brother. You don’t have any siblings, do you?”

“Sss-bling?” Arthur repeated.

“Like a brother or a sister,” Apollo said. “It’s alright, we know you don’t. How about we keep you company, hey? I’m sure you know lots of games. And then we’ll make sure you get home just in time for tea.”

“Oh, okay,” Arthur agreed. He grinned, pleased to have found new friends. “There’s only four chairs at my table though. So you won’t both fit. But I could sit on the floor when we eat, so you won’t have to.”

There was no need for anyone to sit on the floor. It took a while – a few years actually – but Arthur decided that Artemis and Apollo were his imaginary friends. Which was nice, really, because it was like having something special, just for him. No matter where he went, if he was left alone to entertain himself, they were there. They played in the woods and in the fields, in the house holding grand hide-and-seek tournaments, and when Arthur sat alone during school hours, scratching his head over work he hadn’t finished but had been forced to complete over breaks, they nudged him in the right direction.

Artemis encouraged him to ask his mum for help with things like fractions and commas, even though she could have helped him herself. Arthur was only a little bit annoyed at that, because it meant his mum was equally annoyed with _him_ – she hid it well, and she was _there_ , which was more than he could say for his dad – but she _was_ exhausted by the hours she spent soothing him through endless frustration.

As he grew, neither Artemis or Apollo got exactly what they wanted from him – except enthusiasm.

Apollo wanted to nurture talent in him. So Arthur was encouraged by his imaginary friend – who grew and aged with him – to stay at home and practice all sorts of things that cost his parents lots of money.

Gordon was glad to waste money on music lessons, and art lessons, and sports clubs, if it kept his son out of the house and out of his hair – he even attended a few matches, ready to cheer him on, until he realised how poorly Arthur was doing. The telling off Apollo received when he returned to Olympus was monumental.

“Stop torturing the boy,” Aphrodite fumed.

“He _needs_ help,” Apollo insisted. “Look at the lad. What’s he going to have if he doesn’t have talent? Trust me, give me time and I’ll find something in there.”

“He’ll have heart. He’s already got heart and you’re breaking it!”

For a while, Apollo stepped back and helped Arthur nurture a talent for the little things – for making teas and coffees and playing crazy golf. It wasn’t impressive, but it made Arthur happy, which was something.

It didn’t help that Artemis remained steadfast in her determination to make an explorer out of Arthur Shappey. Arthur was just glad to have his imaginary friends at his side no matter how old he got, and he was up for anything she suggested. Treks through the woods became adventures when she held his hand and marched, with a bow and arrow primed and ready, in between the trees. She staged hunts and urged him to join his dad on overseas trips, to see the world while he could.

Arthur mostly felt like he was getting in the way.

He didn’t blame his imaginary friends. He caused his own problems. He knew his caused his own problems, because he wasn’t the smartest person in the world – not even in his home town, even if his public school (which his parents had paid for much for in the hope it would help him) was so ghastly that he was top in his class.

Arthur didn’t blame anyone except himself.

Problems piled up and his parents fought and he spent less time exploring, less time finding small talents, less time... being happy. He spent more time in his room, lamenting his lack of brains, even though sometimes he thought he _wasn’t_ stupid for thinking up questions that people couldn’t answer, he just thought it wasn’t fair. Some teenagers might have shouted, but he wouldn’t shout at his dad – and he loved his mum too much to ever raise his voice to her, because he didn’t blame her, even if sometimes he wondered if he _should_ blame her for staying put. Then he was guilty again, and felt stupider than ever.

The solution, Arthur decided, was to keep his mouth shut.

The Shappey house was quiet during his adolescence. Even when they moved to Fitton, into an equally large house without any fields or woodland to keep him occupied. Even when his parents stopped really talking, but still lived under the same roof whenever GERTI was parked in the hangar instead of jetting about here there and everywhere.

The Fates were occupied, busy measuring threads, but the loom was thrumming and the pool in which they watched the mortal realm was never at ease. Artemis and Apollo paced its circumference while Athena stood solemnly at its edge, and Aphrodite watched the threads of destiny tangle in a wide tapestry on the other side of the room.

“Come on, give him some brains,” Apollo said. “You owe me that.”

“It’s not about you,” Athena replied.

“Then don’t _give_ it to him. He needs to earn it,” Artemis said. She gazed down at the boy as he puttered around the kitchen with Carolyn, helping her while trying to stay quiet – not doing a good job of it, but paying attention as best he could. “Guide him down a path that will encourage him to think – throw a gifted and talented class his way.”

“As if anyone would believe that.”

“What _can_ you do?” Aphrodite asked. Her tone was dire and she didn’t leave the tapestry. Her grandson’s fate had always been steady, and he was destined to be alright, but a lack of accidents didn’t equate with happiness. “If there has ever been a boy more deserving, I haven’t seen one. There’s only so many helping hands we can give him.”

In the end, Athena went to Arthur alone.

“Arthur,” she whispered as he drifted off to sleep. “I don’t know what to tell you, lad. You’re not smart – not even a little bit. But that’s not a bad thing. Wisdom and brains aren’t the same. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You ask questions, you _seek_ knowledge like the greats – like my favourite wards – and you have a different kind of intelligence, here, close to your heart.” She laid a hand over his chest. “You may be an imbecile, Arthur, but I trust your judgement, believe it or not. You’re very wise, so you won’t need me... you probably won’t see much of me at all. What you _need_ is friends, and you won’t get them if you don’t talk.”

“But people don’t always like me when I talk,” Arthur murmured. Clearly he had the sense to stay calm when unusual things happened, which was more than could be said for most.

“I’m the goddess of war as well as wisdom,” Athena laughed. “Boy, you’re kind and generous, but let me give you some advice. There are some things worth being furious about. You’ll find that they are intricately linked to the things that make you happy.”

“Will you still help me?”

“Who?”

“All these people that have been helping me,” Arthur replied. He still didn’t raise his head. “I thought they were imaginary, but lately I’m not too sure.”

Instead of answering, Athena left him to work it out himself.

Although Artemis and Apollo didn’t appear to Arthur as they did when he was a child, they stayed close as he grew. They lent him their ears during his exams, and his parents’ divorce. They helped him balance his passion for small talents with his excitement for new things when Carolyn needed a steward. They stepped back long enough for the other gods to keep him company, but stopped them from interfering too much.

They didn’t need to make him brave or relentlessly cheerful. Arthur had a heart of gold, only far less malleable. It only increased in size when Douglas Richardson joined MJN, and then Martin Crieff, and Arthur proved that he was well and truly Aphrodite’s grandson. If it hadn’t been for his capacity for love, he couldn’t have held the crew together.

Something in Athena’s visit must have sunk in. He accepted his brains as they were, and when he turned to her for advice she sent Charis in her stead. One of the Charities, one of the Graces, Charis gifted him with kindness and charm, for which Arthur was grateful, as he was for everything he was given.

Reluctantly, Artemis and Apollo had to admit that Arthur’s greatest blessing was his awareness of his limitations.

In the beginning, they had both had such grand plans for Arthur Shappey.

Arthur, however, seemed to live his life in an endless jumble of random happenstance and fortune thrown his way whenever Zeus remembered that he needed some, good or bad. Gods hopped in and out of his life and yet they barely brushed the surface of the fate strung out for him.

He chatted with Hermes on long-haul flights without passengers, generating questions about flight to torture Martin with. Demeter and Hestia helped him choose Mother’s Day gifts and taught him the best ways to keep GERTI clean. His very great grandmother left dreams of him in the minds of pony club girls that he had taken a liking to, but to Aphrodite’s dismay he always managed to put his foot in it with every single one.

“Why are you still choosing girls from the pony club?” Apollo demanded.

“What’s wrong with girls from the pony club?” Artemis replied.

“Because you _know_ what Poseidon is like about horses – he said if Arthur won’t go anywhere near the sea, he’ll look after his love-life,” Aphrodite huffed. She reluctantly touched a hand to the girl’s forehead. “So, pony club girls it is.”

“Ponies aren’t horses,” Artemis said.

“Do I look like I care?”

“Poseidon and his bloody horses are the reason Troy fell.”

“Do you think I don’t know that!”

The girl grumbled and blinked awake to a puff of pink smoke and the smell of honey, confused as to why she couldn’t stop thinking about the young man she had met near the stables that morning.

In the end, they were forced to accept that the best they could hope for Arthur was that he left the world exactly the same as he had entered it – gushing with love, and convinced of the beauty that could be found in the small things. One thing they could be proud of was the way that he spread that love amongst his closest friends, turning them into family before they had time to escape.

He may not have been brainy, or talented, and his taste for adventure was limited to motorway service stations, but he managed feats that would normally take a god-like amount of power – he could make Douglas Richardson juggle apples, Martin Crieff brim with self-confidence behind the wheel of a baggage truck, and a pilot from Cal Air offer him a job.

“So I think I’ve actually done quite well for myself really,” Arthur said, as he lounged in GERTI’s rear aisle with Artemis on one side and Apollo on the other. “That’s why you don’t turn up anymore, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” Apollo replied, feet up on the armrest. “But if you _did_ want to take up something tricky, like-”

“You’ve got nerve,” Artemis interrupted. “You don’t need us to hold your hands.”

“And I really need my hands free when I’m carrying coffees into the flight-deck,” Arthur agreed.

“That’s right,” Artemis said, and patted his knee. “You don’t need our help anymore.”

“What? Oh, no, I definitely need your help. I mean, have you met me?” Arthur said quickly. He smiled good-naturedly though, perfectly aware of his limits as always. “No, I mean, I’m alright, but I really do need help.”

At the end of the day, that was the most Artemis and Apollo could hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is not so good, to be honest. I had a really hard time thinking of things for Arthur, because for him I came up with loads of little snippets, but no overarching story. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this.


	5. Hermes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something a little different

HERMES

St Petersburg

“You’re not really thinking of letting her go, are you?”

There were many voices Carolyn tried to forget, and those of the gods were among them. It wasn’t that she didn’t get along with them – just that there was nothing more humiliating than being the associated with the goddess of _love_ , and that her destiny was her own. Although, she thought as she shivered in a Russian hangar, gazing up her shoddy plane’s mangled engine and the engineers working restlessly to try and assess it, right now she was beginning to wish she had let the Olympians take the reins for a while.

Maybe she was getting old – and wasn’t that a terrifying thought.

Reluctantly, Carolyn turned to see Hermes lounging on the edge of the skip, in which charred shards of GERTI’s engine were piled on. His winged-heels were propped up on one of the rotor blades, and although he hadn’t altered his armour – which Carolyn had once told him looked like the protective gear children wore when roller-skating – he _had_ gone as far as to don a woolly scarf.

“What choice do I have?” Carolyn replied. “Some of us have bills to pay – and staff to pay for that matter.”

She cast a glace towards Douglas, who was talking in low tones with one of the engineers. She looked back at Hermes, eyebrow raised.

“Don’t worry, he can’t see me,” Hermes assured her. He nodded towards GERTI. “Come on though – I mean, _really_ think about, Carolyn. You can’t _really_ be thinking about letting go after everything we’ve been through – _really-_ ”

“If you say really one more time, I will come over there and throttle you, pride be damned.”

Hermes raised his hands in surrender. He was quiet for a moment, the longest she had ever known him to be. Then he sighed.

“You worked so hard for this,” he said.

“I’m well aware,” Carolyn said. She hugged her coat more tightly, and tipped up her chin defiantly, just in case anyone was looking her way. Her breath formed clouds at her lips, but only served to chill her to the bone as more chunks of her aircraft clattered to the ground.

“I was so proud of you,” Hermes said. He tossed a blacked, twisted lump of metal between his hands. “I mean, hand on heart, this was probably my fault. I was paying more attention to the goose than GERTI – not my finest moment, but migrations important. Most of them lived. Anyway, Carolyn... come on, girl. You’re better than this. This is _our_ thing, you can’t just drop it.”

“This isn’t _our_ thing,” Carolyn said. “MJN is _my_ airline – the clue is in the name. I could spell it out for you.”

“I’m alright, thanks. You know what I mean. I spend more time with the other gods’ children than I do my own, and most of them get what help they need – potions, advice, whatever – then they up and leave me,” Hermes insisted. “You though – you started up an airline, you got in the air, you travel all around the globe. You’re a girl after my own heart.”

Resisting the urge to wring her wrinkled hands together, Carolyn shook her head.

“I’m haven’t been a girl in a very long time.”

“You’re a darn-sight younger than me,” Hermes said. “And look at me. Sprightly as ever.”

 He tossed the charred metal over his shoulder and hopped down from the skip, feet never touching the ground. He was the sort of god that exuded a faint golden aura – fairy-dust, he had told her when she was small – and Carolyn felt it’s warmth as he grasped her shoulders and turned her towards the plane. She hadn’t even realised she had turned away from it.

“Look at GERTI. Look at what you built. Now, I tried to help you put MJN together – I had forecasts, and travel plans, and tips, and you ignored every single thing I said. You built your airline up from the ground,” Hermes said softly. “And I’ve stood by you every step of the way. Are you really going to sell it?”

Carolyn stared up at GERTI, heart in her throat. Taking her had been a strike against Gordon... keeping her had been a way to pander to the youth that still lived in her heart, who had loved being a stewardess, loved travelling the world... who probably had more in common with Hermes than she dared admit.

She saw Douglas wave her over from the other side of the hangar. He never looked radiant, or anything close, but right now he didn’t look happy at all. It was enough to help her make any decision, no matter how difficult.

“I cannot drag those boys through hell with me,” Carolyn said firmly. “Unemployment is bad enough. If the least I can do for them is sell GERTI on for the highest price possible, then so be it. We go out with a bang, not a whimper.”

She felt Hermes sigh and step away.

“Well... I suppose your grandmother would be proud,” he said with a weary shrug. “I’ll miss you.”

Later that night, when Douglas somehow knew what Gordon was up to, Carolyn could only assume that Hermes had been whispering in his ear. And the sod honestly thought he had come up with the whole plan himself – sticking Gordon to the control panel, perhaps, but it was too much of a stretch to believe he had _known_ what her devious ex-husband was up to. All she knew for sure was that she was indescribably grateful, for once, that gods were incapable of keeping their hands to themselves.

~~~

Pisa

Hermes liked to spend his time on Earth – more than any of the other gods. There was always so much to do, especially since the Wright brothers had set the mortals onto an unending course into the sky. He liked to hover above the heads of travellers in airports sometimes, lying on his back in a hammock of air, nudging passengers towards the right terminals. His concentration wasn’t the best – if it had been, he might have spent more time on the tarmac, making sure the planes actually took off on time, but that was hindsight for you.

He was quite fond of Douglas Richardson to be honest. There was a lot to be said for a young man bestowed with so much luck he had Zeus chasing him, who was so good at flying, at such a young age, that he was on his way to making Captain at Air England. Of course, lots of pilots were _good_ – Douglas’ friend, Hercules, for example.

What Douglas had, what set him apart from his colleagues, was that he had _passion_.

Hercules was a decent pilot, but Douglas _loved_ flying. He loved being a pilot. He loved travelling to far-off countries and soaking up the culture.

He loved smuggling – not for monetary gain, or illegality, like some, but because he genuinely _adored_ making connections with foreign friends and transporting ridiculous items from one end of the earth to the other just for the fun of it. It was clever (but not wise, Athena had told him often).

Hermes had helped run his fair share of smuggling schemes over the centuries – from pirates to the boring, twentieth century smugglers. But Douglas Richardson made it fun, and he did it single-handedly, making him the ideal candidate.

Of course, Douglas had no idea that he was surrounded by gods tugging at his threads. That just made it all the more fun.

Today, however, Hermes wished that Douglas was just _open his eyes_ and see the god that had been helping him with all of his schemes since the day he had started at Air England. Drink, a second marriage, and a healthy competition between himself and Hercules had made Douglas smug and overconfident. Herc would never smuggle a thing in his life – but he knew what Douglas was up to, and Douglas honestly believed he would be impressed.

“The dogs are going to smell it, you idiot,” Hermes hissed in Douglas’ ear as he hovered above the security desk. “You should have left it in the cargo hold. I would have redirected the couriers – pointed them in the wrong direction. When have I ever let you down?”

Douglas didn’t hear him. He shot the security officer a charming grin.

“Nothing to declare, no,” he said, as though the sniffer dogs wouldn’t notice the heady scent of fresh Italian salami tucked into the secret pockets in his bulky suitcase. As he stepped through the gate, he flashed Herc an equally smug smile.

Herc rolled his eyes, but didn’t say a word as he submitted to the checks.

Hermes couldn’t help but share his exasperation. It was a lot harder to help when Douglas had hidden the key to his capture in his own damn pocket.

“Honestly, Richardson – I’d even carry the boxes from one plane to the other. I mean, _really_ ,” Hermes muttered. “You’ve really put me on the spot here.”

He watched as the sniffer dogs trundled through the airport, perking up when they reached the pilots’ bags. A challenge was one thing – he loved a challenge – but even Douglas’ luck was being pushed here. And Douglas wasn’t even paying attention.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he was saying to the pretty security officer, showing her his wedding ring. “But as you can see, I’m a happily married man.”

Just as the dog turned his head, ready to bark, Hermes flicked his winged-heel against the security gate. It just so happened that Herc was passing through it. The air erupted into a tumult of high-pitched beeps, drawing the officer’s attention away from the dog. Douglas hastily reached for his bag, tipping his Captain’s hat politely. Arms up, allowing the officer to frisk him, Herc sighed and looked past her.

“Why is it that _you_ never seem to set the bell off?” he asked.

“I couldn’t say,” Douglas drawled. “Perhaps you’re wearing an odd kind of buckle.”

“Or you’re just exceptionally lucky.”

“Bad luck, man.”

Good luck, Hermes thought, would have been Douglas managing to convince the officers that the salami in his bag was an accidental addition. Even a year ago, Douglas hadn’t been this careless about smuggling. Showing off wasn’t doing him any good, and Hermes was _this_ close to letting him deal with it on his own.

~~~

Stockholm

“I’m not sure,” Arthur said loudly. He pressed his forehead against GERTI’s window, as though that would give him a clearer view of the flaps. “Are they _flapping_? Maybe they flapped when I blinked?”

“Fraid not,” Hermes replied. He didn’t need to raise his voice, even though he was lounging on the end of the wing, in the freezing cold air above the clouds. They were heading to Stockholm, and although he preferred it in the cabin, he was making himself useful. “Sure you don’t want to call it a day? These things don’t flap.”

“No... no, I think I’ll keep watching.”

Hermes nodded and flitted inside, taking the seat across the aisle. Carolyn was in the flight-deck with Nigel and Douglas, sorting out a minor debate. He liked these moments. Arthur was a decent conversationalist, and one who was endlessly fascinated with his trade at that. Travel, flight, smuggling – Arthur could talk for hours. Not expertly, but that was fine.

“So what’s the sudden interest with flaps?” Hermes asked.

“Something Nigel said,” Arthur replied, brow furrowing as he leaned closer to the window.

There was a little turbulence, but Hermes didn’t bother moving. No matter how hard the boy stared at the flaps, they weren’t going to do what he wanted them to do.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about him. He won’t be around much longer.”

“Oh no... Why not?”

“I’ve got something else lined up for him,” Hermes replied.

“Something good though?” Arthur said, assessing even though he still didn’t turn around. “Because Nigel’s brilliant – he’s great. And he’s a good pilot, and he’s always telling me things about the RAF, which is interesting.”

“You’re allowed to say you don’t like him.”

“But I _do_ like him. The RAF’s really interesting,” Arthur insisted. “Oh, wait – there! Wait... wait... no, that wasn’t it. I thought I saw the flaps flapping for a moment there, but it was just the clouds. You know, I don’t think whoever named all the plane parts spoke to the person who _built_ the plane. If they had, they’d have named the flaps something else.”

“Arthur, don’t change the subject,” Hermes said.

“I’m not, I’ve been watching the flaps all day.”

Hermes sighed and kicked his legs up over the armrest.

“I know what it looks like when you like someone. You like _Douglas_. _I_ like Douglas – glad he ended up here, to be honest. You two – you’re always talking. You might not understand what he’s on about most days, but that doesn’t stop you,” he said. “No... see, I think you’d be better off without Nigel. He’s dull at best.”

“If he leaves, it should be his own choice,” Arthur said. His eyes were still fixed on the outside, but he had turned slightly, hand on the back of the chair in front, paying far more attention. “Or Mum’s decision. You can’t just get rid of someone because you don’t like them. That’s not in the spirit of MJN.”

“MJN was born of spite.”

“What? _No_ , it’s a _family_ business!”

“And does Nigel feel like family to you?” Hermes asked, folding his arms. “Or does he feel like that friend who pops round sometimes, who you and Douglas mutter about when he’s not around? I know, you’ve never said a bad word. But you’re not happy with him. And you know why? Because _he’s_ not happy.”

Arthur took his eyes off the flaps for only a second.

“Are you sure he’s not happy?”

“He flew in the RAF – and he’s beyond retirement age. He’s only here out of a feeling of obligation.”

Arthur nodded slowly, evidently giving the matter a lot of thought. For someone so suggestible, he wasn’t easily swayed. Whatever he insisted on believing, he didn’t like Nigel and the frequent lectures. What Arthur liked was a nice atmosphere – he soaked it up like a sponge and dolled it out like sugar. Eventually, eyes still fixed on the end of the plane’s wings, he made a poor show of sounding simply curious instead of eager.

“Where would you make him go?”

“On holiday,” Hermes replied. “Or I’ll talk to Aurelius, have him send a warm wind towards the Norfolk coast.”

~~~

Fitton

Martin Crieff stood in the summer sun, tongue between his teeth, paintbrush dabbed in green paint in one hand. He had been using the van for small jobs for years now, but this was the first time he had conceded to name an actually company – realising that not doing so was tempting fate, which was the last thing he should be doing while trying to get a job at an airline.

“Whatever you do, don’t let him out of your sight,” Athena instructed Hermes.

“For the last time, I won’t,” Hermes said.

“You only like him because he’s obsessed with air travel,” Apollo muttered. “And if you think _him_ being here is going to stop me-”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave the engine alone,” Athena snapped.

The three of them had taken the forms of children, and sat on the wall on the other side of Parkside Terrace. Hermes sat in the middle, mildly interested in the removals business, and in Martin himself, but already regretting getting in the middle of the other two. Martin Crieff was Athena’s favourite. Apollo should know better than to mess with the van’s engine when she knew darn well that it had functioned perfectly in his father’s hands.

Eventually, they both left.

Hermes stayed to watch Martin quibble over what to name his company.

He was considerably less on the fence when Martin painted the word ‘ICARUS’ on the side o his van in tall green letters. That was just stupid. If he wanted to dedicate himself to the idolisation of a _good_ pilot, he should name his company _Hermes Removals_. But just like Icarus, Martin was a fool.

Hermes flicked his hand.

The van’s engine spluttered – the keys weren’t even in the ignition, but smoke spewed from under the bonnet.

Martin groaned and hurried to set things right. Then he stood back and looked at the side of his van. Whatever he was thinking, it sent him running inside. He returned a moment later with a bucket of water and a sponge.

At least he had seen the error of his ways, Hermes thought as Martin scrubbed the word ‘ICARUS’ from the side of his van. He must have found an inkling of what an imbecile he looked. Still... Apollo might have a point. It was his duty to oversee the removals business, _but..._ Hermes supposed he could hang around and keep showing Martin the error of his ways.


	6. Ares

ARES

With so much warfare taking place across the globe, Ares had less time than the other gods to visit mortals. Unlike the rest, he didn’t have favourites. He was summoned to individuals’ sides by the spark of conflict and a silent prayer for strength.

The Knapp-Shappey family was the exception to this rule.

Fond as he had always been of Aphrodite, Ares let her persuade him time and time again to visit Carolyn and put to rest the conflicts she seemed incapable of avoiding. As far as he was concerned, she handled antagonism as well as he did – a child after his own heart – but her grandmother wanted peace. So Ares made sure that Ruth didn’t do more than spit vitriol when Carolyn left the sweetshop. She made sure that Ian backed down without a fight. And he let years of disputes with Gordon simmer before they reached breaking point.

He never stayed long – just checked in and plucked the fire from where it hung in their hearts.

There was a point, however, where Ares couldn’t stand back and watch. After the exhausting responsibility of overseeing international disputes, there was some joy to be found in the smaller things.

Ares sat through the divorce proceedings.

The marriage had lasted too long, he thought. For Aphrodite’s sake, he had held both parties back. Now, however, Arthur was fully grown and Carolyn was blossoming under the influence of a hope that she might one day be free of dark cloud that had hung over their heads. She didn’t need to borrow any anger, or righteousness. She knew exactly what she wanted, and that was to take everything that had attracted her to Gordon in the first place except him – namely, his money, his house, and his aeroplane.

No, Ares didn’t lurk over Carolyn’s shoulder.

Over the millennia, he had learned that in war it was best to lead those he wanted to fail astray than to try and aid those that brought him the most joy. So he sat on Gordon’s shoulder – the little voice in the back of his head – niggling and pointing out everything that he had to lose, and every little habit that Carolyn had that Gordon had avidly ignored for years.

“You can’t let her get away with that,” Ares whispered.

“Did you hear that?”

“It’s not like you to hold back like this – you deserve every penny.”

“They’re forgetting you’re here. Slam your hand on the desk...”

“No... She’s the one being unreasonable... Raise your voice.”

In the end, Carolyn didn’t win so large a payout because she deserved it more. Gordon, enraged by the spark of conflict Ares had planted in his heart, found his charm slipping away as irrational anger brought the spite and the unpleasantness to the surface.

Carolyn celebrated quietly that night, tiptoeing around Arthur’s muted acceptance of the state of affairs. Ares would have suggested she take the party out of her living room and into a bar, where they could really get into the swing of things, but other duties called him back from Fitton, high enough that he could oversee matters of vaster importance.

~~~

The thing about conflict was that it was far more fun when there were stakes – even more so when another god favoured your opponent – especially when your opponent was someone that you personally hated. There was no particular reason that Ares hated Martin Crieff, but Athena adored him, and _he_ adored Douglas Richardson, who Athena thought was undeserving of his frequent triumphs... it all worked out beautifully really.

Anyone would have thought the two had been weaved into place by the Fates.

It was a short trip to Gdansk that Ares and Athena wedged themselves into the flight-deck. They hovered behind the pilots’ seats, invisible to mortal eyes but perfectly capable of seeing one another’s challenging expressions and foul hand gestures. It had started with a game, which was followed by a bet.

Douglas was winning, but he was calm – enjoying himself. Martin was being as far from wise as it was possible to be with Athena whispering in his ear, telling him to calm down and behave himself. She hated letting Ares have his fun, which was exactly what would happen if the bet escalated. It was _going_ to escalate.

Ares could taste the spark of it in the air – in the frisson of desperation.

“If I’m such a loser, how come I’m the one with four stripes on my arm?” Martin said smugly, casting Douglas an imperious glance as he raised his wrist for inspection.

“Ah, there you have me.”

“Well, I am,” Martin continued, and Ares could sense the inevitable tumble into open conflict, “and that’s when I’m at work, mind you, not just round the house to impress my wife.”

The smile slipped from Douglas’ face and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. He was more hurt than insulted, but that wasn’t how Douglas worked. Ares felt the light tug of a man praying for strength. He grinned across the flight-deck at Athena and placed his hands on Douglas’ shoulders, giving him strength.

“ _Don’t you dare_ ,” Athena hissed, laying a hand on Martin’s arm.

Ares shook his head and leaned down to whisper in Douglas’ ear.

_“Tear him apart.”_

Of course, Ares’ duties more were more than meant more than strife and rage. There was a balance to warfare – that was why Athena was the goddess of war as well. There was anger and fury and complete destruction, and then there were righteous disputes – cold, calculated, quick to the severance of ties. She thought that meant she brought peace while _he_ brought only devastation.

Ares knew better. Sometimes conflicts could only be resolved with thoughtlessness. Sometimes all that rage burned through the bitterness in the air and allowed space to breathe... space to bring an end to it all.

It was a rare occasion when Douglas’ anger got the better of him. Martin’s was hotter, quicker to spark, and had he gained Ares’ favour he might have been more successful in life. But Douglas... Douglas didn’t talk about that which troubled him. He _needed_ Ares to rile him up for things to get settled.

Thousands of miles above the ground wasn’t the best place for war, but a flight to Qikiqtarjuaq provided ample opportunity.

Apathy had been bubbling between the pilots for weeks, and Athena was absent. Without her aid, Martin pushed and pushed, and Douglas pushed right back – he tore into the Captain and acted irrationally, impulsively – exactly the way Ares loved. It brought them right to breaking point, through a stony silence across the Atlantic and back to Fitton. They stayed just as angry at each other as they had been in the Arctic.

And then... they weren’t angry anymore. Finishing up the paperwork without a word to one another, tucked away in the porta-cabin, they were both just tired. Waiting until Carolyn and Arthur were out of the way, Ares gave Douglas a sharp nudge.

Douglas looked up, to where Martin was hunched over his desk, filling out forms.

Ares gave him another nudge.

“Martin-”

“Douglas, unless you’re ready to have a very serious conversation, I-I’m really not in the mood,” Martin replied without looking up. His cheeks turned a bright shade of red, which was a good sign though.

Douglas sighed and sat back in his chair.

“I suppose I’ve nowhere else to be...”

With that, Ares left them to it. Reparations weren’t something he enjoyed overseeing. As long as he had done his bit, there was no point in hanging around to see the results. The other gods got to make the most of the lighter moments in life. He had more important responsibilities.

~~~

Nothing was so important as answering the prayers of those who weren’t accustomed to feeling strong enough to fight. Those who didn’t anger easily most often needed it for a good cause – they deserved it more than those who were warmongering or who enjoyed pain.

People like Arthur Shappey, who was already on Ares’ radar.

There were moments in Arthur’s life, where his love for his friends and family overwhelmed his natural inclination towards kindness and understanding. Arthur wasn’t stupid, and he knew that some people deserved more than what they got – and that others didn’t.

As much as he loved Gordon, he knew that his father wasn’t a good person.

He knew that Carolyn was tired, and irritable, and often at her wit’s end trying to raise him, and then employ him, and then keep both of their lives afloat. He knew that she deserved the world. There were few things that brought Ares to Arthur’s side, but seeing his mother’s lip wobble and her wrinkled hands wring together was enough.

It was with Ares swooping up behind him, racing through his clenched hands and a flash of anger, that Arthur tossed his monstrosity of a cake over Ruth’s head. And it was with Ares’ hands on his shoulders, anchoring him and giving him the strength he needed, that Arthur finally stood up to Gordon in the advent of Martin’s departure from MJN.

Ares didn’t have to say a word.

He just planted his feet and stayed put, hands never leaving Arthur’s shoulders. There was no joy in this, but Ares knew where he was needed.

There were no cakes to throw this time. Arthur didn’t need one. The spark of conflict had been festering for years, but he had a special talent for ignoring it – he could put an end to it in one swift move. Not by arguing, or hitting back, but by standing a little taller and turning his head towards the plane, raising his voice and shouting:

“DOUGLAS! MARTIN!”

“No, no, no, no – don’t do that!” Gordon insisted, and Ares could tell that he had realised for once that he didn’t have the upper hand. Intimidation only went so far, and he was far smaller than he thought beside an aircraft, his son, and the pilots that thundered down the metal steps onto the tarmac to flock to Arthur’s sides.

Douglas and Martin may have found the gold, but Ares wasn’t there for that.

He was there to settle a years’ old dispute, which ended when Arthur finally put his foot down and cut all ties with his father with a single realisation that the bridge had already been burned – that he deserved better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one here for you. I've had a stressful week and it took me ages to finish the latest chapter of my novel - but this was a nice reprieve. I hope you enjoy it.


	7. Hera

HERA

The areas that Hera oversaw were areas in which intervention was rarely necessary. With Olympus to keep in check, it she was glad to be able to leave the mortals be for the most part. It just so happened, however, that while the mortals didn’t _need_ her help, they longed for assistance in her areas of expertise more than they prayed to anyone else.

There were ways of dealing with such a burden. As times changed, and people grew less likely to put up with ‘visions’ of the gods, Hera devised a system that benefitted them all - a way to intercept calls to hotlines, letters to agony aunts, and random wishes thrown into the night. Only occasionally did she bother visiting the mortals in person.

Every generation had its special favourites in the eyes of the gods – to Hera’s disdain, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey was one of them. A lesser woman would have held Aphrodite’s bloodline against her, but Hera merely kept her distance. She paid quiet notice to the first wedding, the divorce, and the second marriage. She looked on with a pinch of pride each time Carolyn made the right decision – contrary to her grandmother’s wishes – but tried to avoid saying so to those involved. In truth, she didn’t visit Carolyn until Carolyn was riddled with worry, nine months pregnant and woefully unprepared for the road ahead.

“Honestly, the best thing you can do is go home and rest,” Hera said, leaning elegantly against a filing cabinet in the guise of a high-powered CEO – which Carolyn had seen through in moments.

The woman in question had been shafted from stewardess duties the instant Gordon realised her bump was visible through her uniform. Grateful for the chance to get off her feet – although she would never admit it – Carolyn had taken over the administrative side of his small, private airline. Right now, she was digging through her logs, desperately searching for the last batch of invoices she had received at the end of the month.

“No, no... I have work to do,” Carolyn muttered. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me-”

“I deal in silent prayers,” Hera interrupted. With a wave of her hand, she send Carolyn slowly slipping back into the nearest chair, where she slumped with her hand over her stomach. “Don’t think me so foolish I can’t see a cry for help-”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No one ever does.”

In the end, Carolyn did go home.

They never really discussed her fears, but Hera made sure to be close by when Arthur was born. For once, the family was mostly happy. Gordon had pulled out all the stops, thrilled to have a son that he could raise and teach in his own image – one who could inherit the business when he was gone. Carolyn was dewy eyed, and Hera watched on in the guise of an imperious nurse, suspecting that she should offer comfort but not really feeling it.

“The child is healthy,” Hera assured her.

“I know he is,” Carolyn replied tartly. Her expression was softer though, as she cradled the screaming baby close to her chest. It had been hours since Arthur had stopped crying, and she had gone from rocking him to trying to comfort him with short twitches and half-hearted songs. “He’s fine. He’s just glaringly aware already of how grim a place the world is.”

Hera watched her a moment.

“You’ve fed him?”

“Yes.”

“He’s warm?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t got his arms bent at an odd angle from all that swaddling?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then there is nothing wrong with him,” Hera said. She approached the bed, but made no effort to sit on the edge. She could tell from the way Carolyn eyed her that she was grateful, and had no intention of pushing her will on her. “Except, perhaps, that he can sense your own anxiety. Let’s not prolong this any more than we have to. I wouldn’t be here if you were confident in your ability to raise this child.”

“I can raise my son perfectly well, thank you,” Carolyn said. Arthur hiccoughed, and she held him closer and sighed. “And I _will_ be going back to work when we’re both ready.”

“As you should.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, as you should,” Hera said. She paced the room, slowly and gracefully, taking a moment to drop a card with her private number on in the bag they had packed the night before. “The Fates assure me I’m not to push the matter of maternity leave where you’re concerned. Nevertheless...” She hesitated, dissatisfied with what she needed to say and yet confined by her duty. “I won’t pretend you have an easy ride ahead of you. I _am_ here for a reason... My role is one of guardianship-”

“I don’t need help,” Carolyn snapped, and stared up at her.

Hera shook her head and knelt beside the bed. She trailed her hand through the air above the child’s head, and Arthur fell silent. The tension left Carolyn’s form immediately.

“I’ve punished people for lesser pride before,” she said. “Take it from me... you need it.”

With that, she left Carolyn alone – not really alone, for she never was – but with the illusion of isolation. If that was what it took to keep the lines of Fate intact, it was worth descending from the clouds every now and again.

~~~

Most of the time, Hera watched the mortals from above. She had ways of communicating when it was necessary, even if she didn’t like the thought.

For years, she had watched Zeus chase Douglas Richardson here, there, and everywhere, and cared not a jot for him. In fact, the breakdown of his first two marriages had been his own fault, and she had smoothed the way for a clean separation each time – taking it easy on him only because he was determined to do right by his daughters, both times.

The night that Helena left for good, Hera cursed herself for feeling a pang of sympathy.

It hadn’t been his fault this time... not entirely. It would have been simpler to leave him to his misery, but with so many eyes on MJN, her reputation wouldn’t stand walking away while the other gods got their grubby paws on him. Besides, she had promised Zeus not to let Dionysus take advantage of the man, like last time. So as Douglas paced between his lounge and his kitchen, contemplating all manner of things but mostly feeling sorry for himself, she took a calling card from her desk and blew it like a dandelion seed into his path.

Douglas plucked the card from his coat, believing no doubt that it had fallen from a shelf.

Instead of calling the number, he tossed it aside.

Rolling her eyes, Hera clicked her fingers. Douglas’ phone began to ring. Grumbling, he retrieved it, slumped on the sofa, and pressed it to his ear. He didn’t answer at first. In the end, Hera connected the call from her end.

“Hello, house Richardson?”

“Speaking?” Douglas sighed.

“Hera’s Helpline,” Hera replied. She inspected her nails, keeping one eye on Douglas’ living room to make sure he was paying attention. “I was contacted-”

“Let me stop you there,” Douglas interrupted. “I think you’ll find that if anyone contacted you, it was my wife. Now, if-”

“Shall I assume that you have experienced marital troubles?”

Douglas paused and sat upright, slowly, frowning and close to rankling. She watched him look around the room, just a cursory glance. He had never really believed in the gods – was blissfully unaware of them, in fact.

“Hold on... did my wife say something?”

“No, of course not,” Hera said. She sat back, rolling her shoulders, and prepared herself for the same old spiel she had been dolling out for centuries. “But I sense a tone... and your wife contacted me for a reason.” Helena had no idea, of course, but she knew by sight that Douglas wouldn’t be calling her any time soon. “Whether your wife wishes to speak to me or not, I am here to help... to offer guidance, if that is what you need.”

“I don’t need any help.”

It was always the same, no matter how dearly everyone she spoke to _did_ need her.

Before Douglas could hang up, Hera blew a draught through his house – one that carried something impressionable and easily led, enough to get him talking. The events of the last few weeks were meant to be. This was damage control at most, and the effort had to be on his part.

“I, um...” Douglas was readily affected by a drowsiness that loosened his lips. “You know, I can’t quite recall what I...”

“Talk to me about Helena,” Hera instructed softly. “And talk to me about yourself... where you plan to go from here. Let me here your plans, and I shall ensure you continue in a way befitting your Fate.”

It took a moment, but Douglas gave in eventually. He talked, and talked, and Hera left him that night with the suggestion that honesty was his best hope for a future – for a family, if that was still what he wanted. She didn’t see the seeds she had planted come to fruition for months, but when Douglas came clean with Martin Crieff and the rest of MJN, Hera was glad to sense a weight lifting from his soul.

It made her job a little easier, after all.

~~~

Martin Crieff didn’t put any stock in the gods, so Hera was glad to leave him alone for the most part. However, when he found himself in a muddle over whether to leave MJN or join Swiss Airways, Hera had no choice but to intervene. She was the goddess of families, amongst other things, and she was duty bound to ensure that he made the right decision – lest the Fates hound her over knots in their weaving.

Talking to Martin wasn’t going to work. He was oblivious to divine intervention.

Hera remedied this by visiting Wendy Crieff invisibly, when Martin chose to stop in and let his mother know that he had accepted a job at Swiss Air, but still wasn’t sure about it. Throughout the day, she made sure that the radio in the kitchen played only light-hearted music which would point her in the right direction. She rearranged the letters on the leaflets Wendy had pinned to her notice-board and gave her a premonition that her son would be coming to her with a problem.

“I just don’t know if I can leave MJN,” Martin said, later that day. He sat in the sitting room, having made his mother tea just as she liked it, and took advantage of his siblings’ absence. “I mean, Carolyn _relies_ on me... she said herself, the airline’s going to fold without me there. A-and that’s going to leave her and Arthur – god, Arthur too – both of them out of work, and they’ve got a mortgage. At least, Carolyn does. I don’t think I can do it.”

Wendy nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, I..”

“And what about Douglas? I mean, Douglas is going to fall on his feet – he always does,” Martin continued. “But he’ll never find anywhere he likes as much as MJN. Nowhere he can laze about. I can’t even imagine what he’s like when he actually has to work. And he won’t say it, b-but he’ll miss me. I’ll miss him too, I suppose.”

“ _They’re his family_ ,” Hera whispered from her perch on the window sill.

“They’re like your family really, aren’t they?” Wendy said indulgently. “Although, actually, _we’re_ your family, and you left home to become a pilot, didn’t you? That doesn’t mean you can’t come back, does it?”

“No, I suppose-”

“Martin, dear, the way I see it, you’ve made the right decision,” Wendy said. She patted his wrist and set her tea aside. “If you really care about them, being in Switzerland won’t change that – and they won’t forget you if they really care about you. They’ll find some way to get by.”

“What if they don’t?” Martin asked.

“ _If he doesn’t go, he may lose the chance to find even more family,”_ Hera whispered.

“Well what about your own future?” Wendy asked. “Didn’t you tell me you met a nice girl who lives nearby? Are you really going to let her slip away?”

Martin glanced sheepishly at the back of his hands.

“Well, _yes_ , Theresa’s nice... b-but she’s going to be fine whatever I do,” he said. “Can I really justify leaving the others if I-”

“Have they asked you to stay?”

“Douglas keeps telling me to go for it,” Martin admitted. “And Carolyn fired me, so I... they want me to go... That’s just it, Mum. They want me to go. What if that’s it? I can’t lose them – th-they’re the most important people in my life. We can say we’ll stay in touch, but that’s going to be so much harder if they’re struggling-”

Hera sighed and passed behind the sofa, touching a hand to Wendy’s shoulder.

“Martin, that won’t happen,” Wendy said sternly.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m your mother,” she said. “It’s intuition. And besides, I’ve met them, remember? Your friends aren’t likely to abandon you. We all just want what’s best... and so do you, deep down, Martin.”

Hera stayed long enough to make sure Martin really did go to Swiss Air. The last thing she needed was him talking himself out of it and make her look a fool.

~~~

The day that Carolyn married Hercules Shipwright, Hera attended without invite. She arrived in the guise of the hotel manager, who was in a deep sleep at home, and watched with pursed lips. Carolyn had only a handful of guests – Arthur, Douglas, Martin and Theresa, and any of the airfield workers that Arthur had invited without ever being asked. After the ceremony, and the speeches, she stood at the side of the dance floor.

Arthur wandered over after a while.

“Are you one of them?” he asked.

“If you mean what I think you mean, then yes,” Hera replied, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “I assume you approve of your mother’s paramour?”

“What? Herc?” Arthur was confused for only a moment. In his smart suit, he clearly found it difficult to slouch and fold his arms as he usually did, but he made a valiant effort as his smile widened. “Yeah, ‘course I do. Herc’s great. I’ve known that for ages, and if you’re like the other ones I’ve known – the ones like you, I mean – you must know that too.”

“I can’t say I care much for Hercules’ attitude to his previous marriages, or his idea of family,” Hera said. Reluctantly, she listened to the sway of the music for a moment before speaking her mind. “However... there are things that mortals should decide for themselves. It’s difficult being the patron of one of those things. My opinion only matters when there’s trouble about and for once your mother isn’t having any trouble at all.”

Arthur nodded sagely, and she wasn’t sure whether he understood.

He looked at her and seemed to think.

“Have we met before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Hera replied.

“Oh, okay. It’s just you sound like you know me already,” Arthur explained. He shrugged and looked back out across the dance floor, to where his mother was dancing – albeit begrudgingly – with her new husband. “Herc’s brilliant though. He tries really hard to be, which is great too.”

Hera sighed and had to agree.

“Poorly named though.”

They stayed on the sidelines for a while, until an upbeat song played out overhead. Arthur beamed and started moving before he had even turned towards her and offered her his hand.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked.

Hera considered his offer, and thought of the centuries that might pass on Olympus before she was given another opportunity. Taking a deep breath, and making sure to tip her chin haughtily high, she accepted Arthur’s hand and allowed him _one_ dance – or as close to dancing as Arthur was capable of. He was the one person that didn’t really need her help, but it was always a pleasure to have his company.

In a while, perhaps, once he had grown up a little more, she might collude with the other gods to arrange that greatness he was destined for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, 
> 
> Still stressed as hell but I completed ANOTHER chapter of my novel, and knocked this one out for you. Not too sure about it, but hey - I'm quite pleased with it anyway. Hope you enjoy it. Next time I think I'll do Artemis again, but with some other characters like Theresa and Douglas' daughters.


	8. ARTEMIS #2

ARTEMIS

Although love wasn’t something Artemis liked to interfere with – there were some women’s wrath not worth incurring, and Aphrodite was one of them – she took a special interest in Carolyn Knapp-Shappey’s. Not the first marriage, or the second, to be perfectly honest. By that time, she was far more interested in Arthur. But once Arthur was old enough not to need his hand held, and Carolyn was old enough that she had stopped resisting the gods’ will so vehemently, Artemis suddenly found herself faced with a Carolyn old and wrinkled, and yet  with the glittering glow of youth in her eyes.

Artemis believed in independence and in the power women had to control their own lives. So she guided, rather than led – which _was_ different, no matter what Hera said. Athena agreed, so it had to be true.

Carolyn had been a girl who refused to listen to Aphrodite’s instructions and actively rebelled against any help she was offered. She had grown into a stubborn woman who forged her own path, and she never listened to anyone. The only interventions she accepted were those sent to her by Artemis (not that she really knew), when she needed an escape she hadn’t previously seen – an open door, a distraction, a choice to make.

So it wasn’t Artemis’ fault that, when she saw Carolyn giving in to the pull of love – thrown into her path by Aphrodite no doubt – and falling for Hercules Shipwright. It wasn’t out of character, per say – Carolyn had _always_ been a bit of a romantic and a little starry-eyed, and even if life had hardened her heart and thrown a cynical shade over her capacity for hope. Artemis couldn’t be faulted, she thought, for believing Carolyn was ill.

Or for following her to Fitton park, ready to offer an escape from the dog-walking first date she had arranged.

In the guise of an exercise-crazed twenty-something on roller-blades, dressed in jobbing gear, with headphones hanging from one ear and her bow and arrow slung over her shoulder (readily mistaken for whichever new hype annoyed the locals most), she kept her distance. She watched Herc walk with one hand in his pocket – the other swinging lazily at his side, coyly moving closer to Carolyn’s every now and then before retreating when Carolyn moved Snoopadoop’s favourite ball from one hand to the other.

The lunch had gone well, depending on who looked at it.

Carolyn had something of the huntress in her, and Artemis was pleased to see that however enchanted she might be by Herc’s moral high-ground, relentless affability, and insistence on making her widen her horizons, she refused to give him an inch of room until he had been tested to the limit. She may have looked like she was taunting, but Carolyn was making sure Herc couldn’t be scared away, or offended into transfiguring into a monster. If he had, she would have slayed him easily.

But Herc was charmed, and Carolyn enjoyed herself, and Artemis was forced to follow them.

“He’s been properly vetted.” Aphrodite didn’t announce herself. She joined Artemis with a weary drawl, dressed in overalls and wielding a large pair of sheers – for what was most beautiful to Fitton’s dog-walkers was the idea of the council sending someone out to prune the trees and cut the grass for once.

“So this _is_ your doing then?”

Artemis skated smoothly after the pair. They were bickering good-naturedly about the merits of environmentally friendly fuels. Herc was all for them – and then abashedly quiet as Carolyn pointed out the hypocrisy from a man who flew an aeroplane and had, she reminded him, turned up that day in a green sports car.

“I told her to go to the opera,” Aphrodite said. “Trust me, dear, I’ve done all I can and she’s still doing the complete opposite to what I tell her to do... She’s taken it one further this time by doing _exactly_ what I want her to do, in order to _not_ do what I told her to do.”

“Quite a scheme,” Artemis replied.

“It’s not, and _you’re_ not to encourage her.”

“I thought you wanted her to find love.”

Aphrodite sighed and maintained a stony silence, but made no effort to leave. She kept up with Artemis easily without skates. It was clear, the longer they followed the two, that something was _wrong_ with Carolyn, even if Hercules was a perfectly decent man. There was no doubting the goddess of love’s abilities, but it just wasn’t right that a woman so set against doing what she was told would give in _now_.

“Ah, look!” Artemis pointed to the pair, who were both demonstrating a dazzling array of fervent arm movements. “She needs an out – I knew it. She doesn’t need your help.”

“But yours is fine.”

Before she could be talked out of it, Artemis raised her fingers to her lips and whistled. The sound was nothing to a mortal, but Snoopadoop heard it and knew exactly what to do. The dog made a beeline for the pair of little girls on the other side of the park. That would do it, Artemis thought – that would give Carolyn an excuse to leave.

“I hope that little girl likes dogs,” Herc said, voice carrying across the park.

Sadly, neither of them left. They kept walking, side by side, Carolyn making no effort to take Herc’s hand even though he made every effort. Even when Artemis called the herd of sheep closer to the fence, Carolyn didn’t take the chance to escape the path Aphrodite had set out for her. She crossed the field and left Herc to fend for himself, of course (nothing less befitted her), but then she walked to his car and let him drive her home.

By the time evening fell, Artemis was perched on the little wall across the road from the Knapp-Shappey household, kicking her wheeled heels against the concrete and listening to them whizz. Aphrodite had joined her, and was sickeningly pleased with herself.

“She didn’t go to the opera,” Artemis muttered.

“I don’t care if she follows my instructions,” Aphrodite replied. “All that matters is that two people have found love – or they will, soon. Dear, there are far more important things that forging one’s own path or shirking the help of others. Strong woman don’t have to be lonely ones. Besides, dear, you have tea with the Fates more often than I do – if anyone knows-”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Artemis rested her chin on her knuckles and watched the box of light in the window. Carolyn and Arthur were tucked up indoors, and if she listened hard enough she could hear Carolyn doing her best not to tell Arthur a single detail about the date. She could _feel_ her joy though – it tainted the air in a pinkish hue.

“There’s just something nice about a mortal woman who makes the right decision at every turn, even when the wiser path is the one laid out for her,” she said. “They stopped looking to the gods long ago – to _us_ at least, most of them. But I’m young, Aphrodite – forever young – and women like Carolyn – ones who deny the gods’ direction... they inspire me. Perhaps the Fates intended for her to find romance now, and to pursue this path... I only miss the woman who had the strength to refuse to give in to the path _you_ laid out for her.”

“It sounds like this is more about me than it is about her,” Aphrodite said. She rested her hand on Artemis’ shoulder. “Now, I know I’m hardly sensitive... and neither are you, dear. You’re a huntress and a warrior – the virgin goddess – I respect you for that. You love fiercely, without my help. But... you must understand that for some people, giving in to someone else’s plans might take more strength than refusing to play along.”

Artemis scuffed the heel of her skates against the concrete and stared up at the Knapp-Shappey home. She sighed and shook her head.

“It’s no life for me,” she said.

This time, Aphrodite rolled her eyes and clapped her back a little harder.

“We all lose our heroes, Artemis,” she said. “And you can’t always be theirs.”

~~~

There was nothing about Douglas Richardson that gave Artemis any reason to care for him, save for Zeus’ mistake and the subsequent fallout. His daughters, however, were in regular need of guidance. She _did_ feel sorry for him, and he _did_ care. He was closely watched by those on Olympus, so her heartstrings refused to let her turn her back on his loved ones.

The second daughter was still young, and so Artemis left her to her own devices unless she was in dire need of assistance. Verity Richardson, however, was old enough to be dipping her toes into independent life – teetering on the edge of a precipice and terrified, no matter how good at hiding it she was, just like her father. Just like her father, it was an act learned from watching someone she looked up to.

Throughout her life, Artemis had ensured that she had plenty of options, even when the only ones she could see were the ones that would make her mother or her father proudest. Although Artemis preferred other species, the least conspicuous form she could take in the twentieth-first century was that of a blue butterfly – one that perched on the edge of Verity’s sill whenever she was in need of moral support, one that gave her ideas as though by telepathy, and one that suited her perfectly and made its way into the girl’s favoured aesthetic.

She loved that it could fly away, but stayed. She loved its delicacy. She loved the memories it always seemed to rekindle. Verity never knew, but the butterfly gave her confidence, and that was what mattered.

It also gave a few boys terrible nightmares, but she didn’t need to know that either.

The sight of said butterfly on the back of her mother’s seat got Verity through her graduation. She was thrilled, obviously, to have made it through secondary school with high marks but there was a knot of guilt in her stomach that wouldn’t ease. She had been accepted into all give universities she had applied for... all of them offering different subjects. As she wrung her certificates between her hands, she knew she had to choose one, but she couldn’t make up her mind without feeling slightly sick.

It was worse with her mother and step-father’s faces in the crowd – even more so with her father’s smile as his waved cheerfully up at her.

When the ceremony was over, Verity hugged all three of her parents, took photos with her friends, and then excused herself. She blamed the summer heat. Solace involved a bench that wasn’t already occupied. She watched a blue butterfly flitter past her shoulder. She didn’t see it take a woman’s shape – nobody did. She did, however, feel a certain tranquillity settle over her as Artemis sat beside her and placed an invisible hand on her arm.

“Do not worry about what the rest of them think,” she said. She admired the bracelet looped around Verity’s wrist – thin blue threads wound together – and continued. “You’re capable enough to do whatever you like... Have an adventure. I’ll stay by your side even if you choose wrongly.”

Verity, of course, didn’t hear her.

The longer she sat there, the more she realised she had no idea what to do.

“Alas, I’ve found her,” Douglas’ voice reached them before he did. He wasn’t addressing anyone – just giving her a fair warning. “Mind if I join you?”

Verity sighed and shifted far enough to the left to give him room to sit. Even though she wasn’t six anymore, she still found his ‘wit’ a daunting mix of funny and very, very annoying, but she was old enough not to do more than frown.

When it became apparent that neither of them knew what to say, Artemis tapped a finger under Verity’s chin and loosened her tongue.

“I haven’t accepted any of the offers yet.”

“I thought you’d done that weeks ago,” Douglas replied. “That’s what your mother told me.”

“That’s what she thinks,” Verity said tersely.

Artemis had to give her another nudge.

“It’s just I have no idea... I applied for a Business course, but I’m not sure... and I’m not sure I want to study Law, or... and the medical school,” Verity paused. She had wanted to study medicine, among other things, ever since she had learnt that both of her paternal grandparents were successful surgeons. The thought made it harder to meet her father’s gaze as he gently took the certificates from her. “And Mum doesn’t exactly know that one of the courses I applied for is... You know? I only picked that course because the university has some great Theatre societies-”

“Verity, darling, do me a favour and take a breath,” Douglas interrupted calmly. His expression was anything but calm, but Artemis made sure that Verity was looking at her lap until he measured his expression. “You’re making far too much of this.”

“Because I can do anything I put my mind to?” Verity muttered. “I’m not _you_ , Dad.”

“And I... wasn’t always me either,” Douglas said.

Verity sniffed and looked up. Artemis’ hand on her shoulder kept her grounded and soothed the frustration building up inside her. The school campus was quieter than it should have been, but she was in no position to question it.

“What do you mean?”

“Did I ever tell you I studied medicine before I took up flying? No?” Douglas smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Well, that’s probably because I was terrible at it. Your grandparents weren’t please with me, but they got over it eventually. And I moved on to the next thing, and the next, and then another before I even considered having a crack Flight School. You never know-”

“I don’t want to be a pilot, Dad,” Verity interrupted. She was grateful when he merely bowed his head instead of pushing the matter. The idea, though, did leave her feeling lighter than moments before. It helped her remember that she was supposed to be celebrating. Scoffing, she sniffed one last time and shook her head. “That’s great, that is. All I’ve been trying to do is live up to you, Dad, and now you tell me you’re a fraud.”

“I wouldn’t say a _fraud_ ,” Douglas said. “But you shouldn’t hold yourself to such a high standard. I mean, look at who _I’m_ flying with. Martin Crieff isn’t exactly what I’d call successful at anything, but he’s... he’s doing well, or as well as he can do. All it takes is knowing what you want.”

“But I don’t.”

“Then take a year off,” he continued. “There has to be some benefit to having a father with unlimited access to a private jet.”

“Emily told me about the koi carp,” Verity said. “It’s best you don’t take the jet again.”

Artemis stayed a little while longer – long enough to see Verity decide that travelling for a year would be better for her than leaping into the wrong career. It wasn’t what her mother wanted, but she had chosen it herself. The moment something terrible happened, Artemis would be back to help her put it right, but for now she had spent as much time in Douglas’ company as she could take.

~~~

Royalty in the twenty-first century wasn’t nearly as decadent as it had once been – the ancient world had been wonderful, if not lacking in wifi and other fascinating amenities – but it was always a treat when Artemis got to spent time with women like Theresa of Lichtenstein. In the guise of one of the castle’s maids, Artemis had grown in time with all of Lichtenstein’s princesses, but down to earth Theresa was by far her favourite – the one who rose to the challenge of helping her mother run the country in her father’s absence, and who longed to be high above the clouds, holding lives in her hands as she always had done.

The Fates had their own plans, most of which were unavoidable even though free will allowed for some plucking of the threads.

However, with Artemis nearby corporeally and invisibly at times of need, Theresa was a woman made of stone and steal with a heart of gold, who managed to live her own life while shackled to the responsibility of herding a ten year old king from place to place.

It wasn’t a surprise, really, when Theresa fell in with MJN – at least for a little while. A group so favoured by the gods, brought together as though my divine forces, was bound to draw in the best of humanity.

The surprise was that Artemis was approached by Athena, Aphrodite in tow, when Theresa met Martin Crieff, and asked not to encourage Theresa to choose a path that veered far from their intentions.

Athena wanted Martin to flourish, Aphrodite wanted love to blossom where it was most suited, and Artemis... Artemis wanted what she always wanted – for her favourites to be happy, safe, and strong enough to survive anything. So she thought the matter over, let events unfold at their natural pace, and waited to make her decision until she was invited in.

The phone call came in the middle of the night – to a woman Theresa believed was a maid in the castle, and a good friend.

Artemis answered in a country on the other side of the world, but appeared in the pleasant hotel room Theresa was staying in while she was in Fitton. She had insisted on staying with Martin to begin with, but given in when she realised how uncomfortable he was with asking her to stay at Parkside Terrace. She would have been happy, no matter how cramped the space, but she respected Martin enough not to make him more worried than he already was – on the condition, of course, that he spent the night at the hotel with her.

“So the plan is to come home for a little while, and then to return to Fitton and help Martin pack the rest of his things,” Theresa explained, halfway into their conversation. “He is _definitely_ moving to Switzerland now, which is nice to be certain of. For a while there, I wasn’t sure. Neither was he. I must say though, it has been nice to get away from it all for a while. GERTI isn’t the best plane, but I rather like the adventure of it all – I’m learning quite a bit, and I’m sure if Martin could be kept busy somewhere else for a while, Douglas would let me have a go on the controls without informing the Civil Aviation Authority.”

“It certainly sounds like exactly what the doctor ordered,” Artemis replied. She knew already what Theresa’s week had contained. She had kept her from bruising in the back of the van. “Is there anything in particular you need to tell me?”

That was the question – the key question – the one laced with enough divine suggestion to make Theresa, infinitely independent, to ask for guidance.

“No, I...” Theresa trailed off as the spell took hold. Lying back on her bed, she curled a finger through her hair and glanced towards the light under the bathroom door. She could hear Martin humming over the rush of water. “I’m not sure. My life was alright before... I was happy as I could be, if not _tired_. You know what it’s like. You know what _Maxi’s_ like... but now... I think I’m going to be very happy with the way my life is changing.”

“So the problem is?”

“I used to be happy... I’m going to be happy...” Theresa shrugged. “I suppose I am just waiting for a reason not to be happy, so that when my life changes for the better it’s more... noticeably better. That doesn’t make sense at all. It’s not my fault – the whole day hasn’t made sense. Did I tell you Martin tried to buy the plane?”

“You did,” Artemis replied.

“So you see what I mean.”

“Theresa, I don’t – at _all_ ,” Artemis said.

“I am _worried_ about the direction my life is taking,” Theresa groaned. “And about how little there is to worry about... That must be a sign of something.”

Artemis paused a moment, and then perched, invisibly, on the edge of the bed.

“Theresa, you are the strongest person I know,” she said. “And whatever you do in your life – be it for Lichtenstein, for Martin, or for yourself – you do it well, with a smile on your face, and with _confidence_. There is so much of the leader in you – so much of the warrior – that you could choose literally any path and it would be the right one. Everything you do turns into an adventure... Why should this scare you?”

“Because I _should_ be scared,” Theresa said, “And I’m not.”

That night, Artemis left Theresa alone – she feigned an urgent task that needed seeing to and hung up as quickly as she could.

That wasn’t to say she abandoned her.

What Theresa needed, as she always had, was not support, but a challenge. Theresa knew what she liked and she knew what she wanted. She had been raised to shoulder responsibility and taught herself to get a taste of her dreams wherever she could get them to ensure her own happiness. When she had been young, Artemis had taken great pleasure joining her on her soul-searching – teaching her archery when she was fifteen and leaning over her shoulder as she studied aeronautical terms for instance.

Now, she had a new job, and it wasn’t keeping Athena and Aphrodite happy. Martin would do what was best for everyone and they were already in love, independently of one another and yet together all the same.

No... Artemis made sure to make Theresa’s life interesting to ensure her confidence didn’t fail again. If she wanted disturbances, she would get them.

She started the moment the princess arrived in Lichtenstein, with a few rods of lightning borrowed without permission – then to Switzerland in time to intercept Martin’s possessions – then to the ski lodge that Theresa booked for the two of them – and anywhere that Theresa’s life looked like it might take an upward turn too easily. Lo and behold, Theresa took to task each time, coming to life no matter how confused she was.


End file.
